8th July, Fri
16 Jul 2005
Met an architect. Heís about 56 years old, recently divorced. His mother is waiting for him back in Scotland, with a bunch of white daisies in her hands, waiting for the daughter-in-law and grandchildren who will never arrive. But she need not despair, for she has hope. So she will stand in the golden fields. In sunshine, in vain. Clouded with cataracts, her eyes are murky with hope. But she is happy.
Met my colleagues. Got drunk. The room was suddenly filled with friends. The world was suddenly filled with love and peace. I was moved. There were low whisperings near my ears, of promises and kind words. I searched among the faces broken by red light and soft chants but I didnít find those kind eyes. So I let go. Fell backwards and felt my body land in the embrace of the sea. Swam back eagerly to the crowd of smiling friends reaching out for me from the crevices where they hid.